


It is what it is

by RBRwrites



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Mentioned Mrs Hudson, POV John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Sherlock is a Good Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27816340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RBRwrites/pseuds/RBRwrites
Summary: A glimpse of life at 221b Baker Street a year and half post TFP. Sherlock has changed since John moved in with his daughter, Rosie and the two talk about it.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. The Highness Feels Cold

Cold and shivering, the gold flakes atop the lifelike woollen burrito were too adorable for the only consulting detective to ignore. Leaving his microscope, he moved towards the whimpering toddler seated across from him at the table in her high chair.   
“‘Lock”. “Daddy!", she whined.   
“My dear Watson, your father, unfortunately happens to be preoccupied with work at the surgery. Yes, I agree. He should be here. He should know better than to leave me with a toddler who can barely pronounce my name correctly. Now, for the umpteenth time, if you feel cold, kindly let me adorn you with the blanket you yourself insisted on buying.”   
Seventeen-month-old Rosie stared at him with the look of one who understands everything correctly. However, unlike her expression, she responded with her recently adopted resistance towards the blanket after having developed a fear of crocodiles from the movie Lake Placid not before forcing John to buy her the ‘croco’ blanket during their winter shopping.   
The blanket left Sherlock’s hands soon after receiving the Highness’s signal of resistance. Face scrunched up in horror and hands pushing away the oh-so-disgusting item.   
“Watson’s office”, a middle-aged lady’s voice, one that has acquired the art of sounding sweet and formal at all times.  
“Yes, Sarah, it’s Sherlock speaking. Is John there? Domestic problem.”   
“Alrighty! John?!” She called him out.   
“Sherlock. Domestic problem.”   
Clearly, it’s a common phenomenon at John’s office.   
“What is it now? Milk, biscuits, Peppa? WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT THAT I HAD TO LEAVE THE BLOODY SUTURES?!”, the required parent answered, making his agitation glaringly obvious.   
“The croco blanket. Shivering but refusing help. Sorry but I tried my best. Calling for you.”   
“Gimme an hour.” And the line cut.   
“Alright then, Watson. It’s just you and me until your daddy arrives, which although he claims to be an hour, will definitely take longer. Want some warm milk till then?”   
“Mm-hmm!”, said Rosamund with an air of elegance like any pampered child would.   
MUST KEEP HER AWAY FROM LESTRADE, MOLLY AND MRS.HUDSON. – a mental note added to the magnificent mind place.


	2. No categories, No labels, No names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John starts thinking about the change in Sherlock and confronts him.

“Watson, it’s about time you just learn to adjust. You’ve got a temperature now! Only cuz crocodiles are scary? No, they’re cute, okay? And even if they’re not, I’ll ensure not one ever gets near you. Do you understand? So, just bloody take the damn blanket!”

The whole flat roared with the low registered angry concern. 

The silk laden detective held the blanket around the now meek Highness, sipping onto her bottle of milk, still shivering.

“Whoa whoa what’s happening?!” John dropped his bag to the floor at the door and walked in, tense look on his face, tired with work and Rosie and Sherlock. WHY, OH WHY couldn’t Mrs. H have just stayed home tonight? Why were the bingo sessions always on the wrong days?

Thermometer lying on the dining table next to a glass half filled with milk. Otherwise, it looked pretty clean. Sofa in the right position. Desks cleared. No “experiments” lying around. No new bullet holes in the wall. He had been gone for almost 2 days in a row, coming home only once for a shower the previous night. If he was being frank with himself, he had actually expected 221b Baker Street to be in the havoc it always is, expecting Mrs. H to intervene when needed. Rosie, though primarily left in Sherlock’s care, was supposed to be kept an eye on (which meant more than it does literally) by Mrs. Hudson.

Then why was it, that now that their landlady had left for a game of bingo with the Chatterjees next door for the night (but only after informing john and ensuring that things were okay at home), things really were okay. They were more than okay, in fact.

“John? Oh, you’re here? Help me with Rosie, will you? I need to get this fever medicine down her throat. She’s a spoilt brat, John. We need to stop leaving her with the other fellas. They spoil her too much.”

“Listen to me, you lady. This or no violin the whole week for you. Oh no wait. Negative programming doesn’t work half as well as positive.” The detective rambled on to himself while John was still standing in the flat in a dazed fashion.

“Alright, you take the med and I WILL play the violin. The special one you like. Tonight. Deal?”

A firm handshake took place between the two.

Oh. John just realised.

He managed. Sherlock actually managed everything. As a matter of fact, it had been quite long since he had to deal with Sherlock’s antics.

“Uh, looks like you’ve got it in control, huh? Didn’t need me, after all.” John now realised he hadn’t done a single of the things he was supposed to do, on coming home.

“Oh no, John, don’t be modest. I think it’s your mere presence that made her tame.”

John’s train of thought continued. Rosie had, in fact, replaced Sherlock as the problem creator of the house, in the seventeen months that she had been present in their lives.

Later that night, soon after Sherlock put Rosie to bed after their violin session (he insisted John relax a bit now that he had come home after two days’ work), John waited at the dining table, having started his dinner already.

“Her fever’s down, luckily. What a stubborn little darling! Is that what I used to be like?”, he smirked.

Used to be like. He’s right. Sherlock has changed.

John cleared his throat as Sherlock sat down to start.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

Sherlock looked up, eyes wide, yet focused on the meal.

“This care, cleanliness, order. What’s all that about? That’s not how you usually are. And as you just said yourself, “used to be like”. I’ve gotta say it’s a little weird.”

“Oh. Do you want me to be more like my past self?”

“No. no. I mean, sure I probably got used to nagging you. And I thought I would have to be the sole parent for Rosie. But you’re being a wonderful parent. These past 1 and a half years. They’ve felt perfect. You didn’t let us feel the absence of a mother. You’re being responsible and nice and less…. sociopathic”.

He grinned, saying, “I think we all know how less of a sociopath I am anymore. What with the Musgrave hall revelations and Eurus? Let’s just...ugh. Go on, John”

“So, I just don’t understand. What? I mean….” John could not feel a bigger lack of words than he did, in that moment.

Hearing such words brought instant embarrassment to the detective’s face, now drowned by the overwhelming awkwardness.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Said the master at changing topics according to his will. “But, there’s this thing.” John saw a face of Sherlock he had never seen before. Was that shyness? Hesitation?

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering if I could adopt Rosie as my own legal child, along with ours. I mean, we could share her as legal parents.”

John didn’t say anything for a moment.

“I mean, we don’t need to be a couple for that, right? I don’t mean to say I want a relationship with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I understood. Um, yeah, that’s actually a brilliant idea. I don’t mind at all. I was just taken aback is all. I would be the happiest to have you, my best friend as a father of my daughter.” John said firmly, eyes gleaming with joy.

“So, what are we, then?” John said after a minute, realising how awkward their status would get. Not that their situation that minute wasn’t awkward already.

“Do we have to be something, John? We can simply be John and Sherlock, right? “

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, no categories, John. No categories, no labels, no names. We are what we are. Like you said, it is what it is.”

“It is what it is.”

John smiled, looking back at his plate, only to notice that he was actually done. Must have been starved from the not so real coffee he had hundreds of times a day at the clinic.

“As for whether or not I am the same person”. Of course, he had to change the atmosphere. “Look here.” Sherlock got up and opened the cabinet at the top of the fridge unreachable to everyone in the house, except Sherlock himself and out came the “experiments “, weapons, case files and everything deemed unacceptable to be around a toddler. A smart one, at that.

John couldn’t help but burst out laughing, Sherlock joining in with him.

That moment was their perfect homeostasis. After all they had been through together, this was the best John could have asked for. Although not conventional, it was flawless. And John could only wish that he could live in that happy domestic life forever, however weird.

“SHHH. Rosie’s sleeping. I cannot play the violin again, my fingers hurt.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are appreciated.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
